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Hey I’m a writer, with the firm — perhaps arrogant — belief that if you can’t put an emotion or feeling into words, then you better brush up on your communications skills and stop relying on a series of 176 characters that as one online biography of the Japanese inventor of emojis put it, “could cover the entire breadth of human emotion.”

Even Tolstoy couldn’t do that.

But clearly the world is not with me. I get texts from family members in which emojis are perhaps the only thing of substance in them. Sometimes I find them irritating, other times amusing and, in some loaded conversations, much friendlier than straight text.

Emojis have defused a texting (or testy) moment or two with a grown child. You can’t stay starchy about anything with a funny little face smiling goofily at you. (Although I could do without the “smiling poo” emoji that seems to pop up regularly.)

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Emojis however, are not what’s on my mind. It’s my own online communication problem: I have somehow developed an unhealthy dependency on x’s and o’s to end my emails and texts. So girlie (although men use them too) so pseudo intimate, so … emotionally easy.

Who gets to receive my x’s and o’s? A growing circle of family, friends, and even dear colleagues. Indeed, signing my emails with kisses and hugs has become so automatic, that in haste one deadline day, I noted in horror that my editors were about to about to be electronically embraced by me, and deleted just in time.

Not only is the circle of kissy-eface alarmingly widening, but the number of x’s and o’s is growing too. It began with a discreet xo, perfect for asking my friend about how her day was going, although with a big important arts job, she didn’t seem quite as eager to respond in kind.

Then it became the only sign off I found warm enough to get my loved ones to do my bidding: “Can you pls pick up bbq chicken on way home, thanks xx” was the perfect blend of marital love and “you’re doing dinner, dude” when texting my husband.

Suddenly, though, the sign off itself became exponential, with xxxxxx or xoxoxoxoxo appearing almost as if I couldn’t contain myself when something nice — or bad — happened to anyone of whom I was remotely fond.

Predictably, the x’s and o’s also started to be a coded message in and of themselves, say, if said spouse and I were trying to work through a minor disagreement, or if I was still a bit cheesed off. By my xx’s (or lack thereof) would he know me. I almost felt as if I were a movie reviewer critically bestowing half a star out of five, or worse, no stars.

Ridiculous, and of course, if I had followed email protocol from the get go, no sign off was ever really necessary. Well, that train has left the station. I will always, until the conversation is in full swing, sign off on my first email to someone. It seems rude not to do so. As for texting, any sign off only betrays your age. I know this. Yet I persist with the x’s and o’s on texts.

So now I’m stuck with a cliché that should appall me as a writer almost as much as a reliance on emoticons.

But maybe it’s not a cheap cliché anymore. Maybe, in a harsh world, it’s a way of saying you matter to me.

Our manners are evolving all the time online, and so they should. What was unacceptable even a half decade ago — an email condolence note — now is not only standard practice, but can be kinder and have more impact than snail mail, however pretty that handwritten card with the Van Gogh irises and sentiments to match.

An online condolence email has the advantage of immediacy, which to someone grieving, can be a lovely moment. Besides, we are living in a world where people’s real addresses are far less obtainable than their email ones.

We have so-called “silent friendships” — those relationships conducted completely online instead of, say, meeting for a coffee or a beer occasionally.

We now make most of our social arrangements virtually — by text or email. And of course, we let ourselves off the hook — we’re running late, we changed our minds, we dropped the ball — almost exclusively by emailing or texting because phoning would be, gasp, way too direct.

I talked to one 30-something who says he doubts if a lot of people remember the letters xoxo represent actual kisses and hugs.

So think with me out loud here. Are those x’s and o’s warm and friendly or trite and unnecessary? Should I go cold turkey? Or gradually reduce my x’s and o’s to blank space?

And then what?

I look forward to your insights, thanks, xoxo.

Judith Timson writes weekly about cultural, social and political issues. You can reach her at judith.timson@sympatico.ca and follow her on Twitter @judithtimson.

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